


thread your fingers through my hair

by astrangepurplefairy



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, HAHA spork, Hispanic spork, Implications of sex but nothing explicit, M/M, hello im spork conlon king of brooklyn, i meant spot and it’s too funny to change, i really love sprace, implied bad home life, miss Medda is an icon, pure fluff, race has a kink for touching spot’s hair, slight mention of anxiety, someone help me, spork and jack are brothers, sporks has a kink for having his hair touched, sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-10 15:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangepurplefairy/pseuds/astrangepurplefairy
Summary: all the times race touches spot’s hair and makes spot fall further for him





	1. it’s been a long day

**Author's Note:**

> iM sO tIrEd  
> hope you enjoy bc this is fluff and there’ll be more chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just fluff and ive never been this tired in my life  
> im not going to bed  
> enjoy!!

April 24th

Spot has had quite possibly the longest day of his entire life.

He’d gone to bed at one the night before and woken up at  _five,_ because of the damn morning construction going on  _right outside he and Race’s building_. Race, somehow, had remained blissfully unaware in his own bedroom, leaving Spot to die quietly by himself until he had to go to work. The coffee machine was broken, leaving him to drink some Sprite which made him feel uncomfortably queasy, and they were out of milk, so he couldn’t even have cereal. When he’d left for work, his car hadn’t started, making him take the subway, but once he got there, he realized he’d left his metro card at his apartment and had to sprint back to get it. He’d been an hour late for work. At work—his lousy fucking supermarket cashier gig—he’d had to deal with a screaming extreme coupon-er, a broken scanner, and a teenage girl who was drunk at three in the afternoon and threw up all over him.

When he finally got off at nine, he’d had to drag himself onto the subway, nearly killed himself running into a frightening maybe-ex-gang member, and tripped up the stairs in his apartment building because the fucking elevator was out of order.

He pushed the door to his apartment open, eyes half-closed, and leaned against it once it shut. Race was sitting on the couch under a blanket, eyes trained on the TV. He looked up when Spot entered.

“Hi bud.” Race laughed. “How’re you doing?”

Spot made a sound that could only be explained as a squeak. “I have had the worst day on the planet, I want to die.”

Race pouted and turned down the television. “Sorry, Spottie.” He said gently.

Spot shrugged and collapsed onto his stomach beside Race, face shoved into the couch as he groaned. Race, almost without thinking, reached a hand over and brushed it over Spot’s curls gently.

Spot sighed lightly as Race’s hands began to thread through his hair. Before they’d moved in together, Spot hadn’t been touchy with anyone, ever. They didn’t touch him and he didn’t touch them. But Race was different. Race was the clingiest human being on the planet. Touch was his way of communicating, and since Spot still wasn’t so good with the words, it had sort of become his, too.

Race’s fingernails scratched softly along Spot’s scalp and he exhaled deeply before he could stop himself, eyes closing. A low sound, almost like a purr, echoed from his throat.

Race’s hand stilled. “What, you like that?” He asked with a teasing little chuckle.

Spot was too tired and sad and tired again to deny it, even if he would pay for it for the next eighty years. He just nodded, yawning, and hummed easily when Race’s hand started moving again, nails scratching gently through his hair until Spot was asleep on the couch, snoring quietly.

And even though Race could have very easily gone to sleep in his own room and left Spot to snooze on the couch, he stayed in the living room, one hand on Spot’s head, his black curls threading through Race’s fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s true love


	2. to need a person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> race sneaks into spot’s bed and they have a conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is really fluffy and i kinda love it im not even gonna lie  
> enjoy loves!!

May 8th

Spot woke up to the feel of a warm mass on his left side and the sound of easy breathing.

He inhaled, and he really should have been scared, but he could smell Race’s deodorant and toothpaste, and lying next to him was kind of amazing. Still, he glanced to the clock and murmured tiredly, “It’s two a.m., why are you next to me?”

Race didn’t say anything for a long moment, just brushed his hand along Spot’s arm. In the moonlight filtering through the window, Spot could see that Race’s blue eyes were cast down, staring at the mattress instead of his face.

“I just needed a person.” Race whispered, his voice wavering.

Spot nodded and looked at Race in the watery light. “Do you want to talk about it?” He whispered back.

Race seemed to think for a moment and Spot took the time to study the sharp lines of his face, the cut of his jaw and high angle of his cheekbones. His eyelashes were long and sweeping, brushing against his skin when he blinked, and his blonde curls were in a wild disarray atop his head.

“I just,” He breathed finally, pulling Spot out of his thoughts. “I feel like I’m not good at anything. I mean, I’m good at things, but I don’t have anything I excel at. Davey has writing, and Jack has painting. Albert’s a science whiz, and Elmer is a social butterfly, you’re an amazing actor and athlete, and I just... I just have sarcasm, and I only have that because I use it to hide all the things wrong with me.”

Almost unconsciously, Race’s hand had slid up to rake through Spot’s curls, slowly but repeatedly. Spot knew Race’s habits by now, knew that he used textures and reoccurring movements to calm himself down when his brain moved too fast for him to keep track.

Side-note: Spot loved the way it felt when Race touched his hair, but that wasn’t important.

Spot sighed and leaned into Race’s touch. “Racetrack Higgins,” He said fondly, and smiled a little. “You are unbelievably good with numbers. You were the star runner on your track team all through high school. You sing like an angel. You’re handsome, and good with people, and you’re funny—not just from your sarcasm, just from your personality. You’re not one in a million, Racer, you’re one in 7.7 billion, because there is no one like you, anywhere.” He paused, studying the blush that dusted across Race’s nose and cheeks, and felt his face burn as Race’s thumb ran over his ear. “You’re amazing at so many things.”

Race managed a weak smile, looking up through his eyelashes, and scratched Spot’s scalp lightly. “You’re kind of perfect, you know that?” He whispered.

Spot chuckled, even though he could feel his heart pounding from his ears to his toes. “You’re ridiculous, Race.” He laughed, but his tone was fond and quiet.

Race was quiet for a long moment, his eyes on Spot’s face, one hand still in his hair. “Can I—stay here, maybe?”

Spot nodded once, and then again, firmer. “Yeah, yes, you can.”

Race’s hand kept moving along Spot’s scalp, but his other reached down and threaded his fingers through Spot’s against the mattress, holding it tight.

“Thank you, Seanie.” Race whispered.

Spot lolled his head to one side, giving Race a teasing smirk as his heart beat against his rib cage. “Ah, shaddup.”

Race laughed and shut his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give spot feelings 2k19  
> i feel like i should start exclusively calling him spork  
> I LOVE YOU  
> <333


	3. blanket fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spot is up late and race has an idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> domestic/oblivious sprace  
> go nuts  
> enjoy!!

May 19th

Spot was normally very good at shutting up that little voice in his brain that told him he did everything wrong, that he wasn’t worth anything, etcetera etcetera. He’d spent fourteen years of his life denying his feelings, pushing them to one side, ignoring them. That’s not to say he didn’t have them, because he did—he just... subdued them. When he was happy, he was content. When he was sad, he was bummed. When he was angry, he was irked. It was easier to hide, outside his home and inside it, when he was just quiet and simple.

But then Medda had found him, and her and Jack and all of Jack’s ridiculous friends had taught him how to face his feelings. It had been anger, first—it was easy to be really angry when there were so many things to be angry about. 

It was harder to be sad. It felt weak.

But Race had come along, eventually, and he made Spot feel so many things that there was no way to subdue it. He made him happy when they laughed together, he made him angry when he did stupid things, he made him stressed when he was acting self-destructive, he made him sad when he told him about his life. Race just made him _feel,_ until it wasn’t difficult anymore.

Spot was good at quieting his anxiety. It was surprising, to most people, that it even existed in the first place. But it was there, nestled in his head, like a ticking time bomb. He knew how to deal with it.

Normally, that meant sitting up in the living room, not sleeping, and listing every good thing in his life, over and over again.

Medda.

Jack.

His friends.

The roof over his head.

The food on his table.

The ability to laugh.

Race.

Race Race Race.

Race again.

It was two in the morning, and the living room was dark when Race exited his bedroom

“You’re up late.” Race notes as he takes notice of Spot sitting quietly on the couch. He made for the kitchen, grabbing a water, and had downed half of it before Spot answered.

“Ah, yes, that would be the crippling anxiety whispering in my ear.” He says dryly.

“Ouchie.” Race hisses sympathetically, and sits down on the opposite end of the couch, throwing his feet in Spot’s lap.

“Yeah, ouchie.” Spot confirms. He takes a swig from a bottle of liquor that had been sitting at his feet, and doesn’t make a face as the burning liquid slides down his throat. He doesn’t have it in him to care, really.

There’s a pause. And then:

“Blanket fort.” Race said with wide eyes, as if it was simply the best idea to exist. And then, for emphasis, he repeated: “Blanket.  _Fort_.”

Spot sighed, met Race’s eyes. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing.”

Race whooped and launched himself off the couch, nearly kicking Spot in the face as he did, and scrambled for their basket of blankets. Spot followed after him, smiling a little.

With the both of them, it took thirteen minutes before they were lying inside a nook of blankets, Race’s laptop quietly playing an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, an array of snacks laid before them. Race was reclining on about a thousand pillows, one of his legs thrown over Spot’s, a Twizzler in his hand.

Spot wasn’t sure how Race always made him feel better, no matter what he did. He was starting to think it was just  _Race_ , himself.

Race nudged him halfway through the episode, sitting up. “We can talk, if you need.” He offered, awkward but sincere, tracing pictures on Spot’s knee.

Spot pursed his lips and then shook his head. “Nah.” He said after a moment, soaking in the contours of Race’s face in the harsh shine of the laptop. “I just wanna forget it.”

Race nodded. “Okay,” He said, and then laid down again, off to one side. He patted the pillow next to him. “C’mere, Conlon.”

Spot, with no lack of mock eye-rolling and grumbling, laid down beside Race, tucking himself into his side. Race made some remark about him actually being a huge softie, and Spot pinched his arm, grinning when he yelped.

It was hardly a moment later when Spot, without looking away from the screen, grabbed Race’s hand and brought it up to his hair, letting him connect the dots.

Race let out a fond huff of a laugh and scratched Spot’s scalp softly, watching him relax into his side and shut his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments if you enjoyed??  
> love y’all  
> <333


	4. you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> race is upset and spot comforts him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaahaaaass im dying gang  
> i kinda like this chapter so enjoy??

June 1st

Race was upset. That much was obvious.

Spot just didn’t know what the  _fuck_ it was  _about._

They were in the middle of the Walmart cereal isle when Race burst into tears.

And Spot had thought taking him shopping was a _good_ idea.

“Hey, Racer, hey,” Spot said quickly, dropping the box back on the shelf and taking Race’s shoulders in his hands.

Race’s head tilted back, two tears running parallel down his cheeks, the picture of despair. “What’s wrong with me, Spot?” He whispered.

Spot said nothing, just grabbed Race’s hand and dragged him through the store and out the front door, abandoning their cart behind him. Race cried and gripped Spot’s hand, not letting go as they walked through the parking lot, or as they got back in the truck, or drove off to some side road and Spot shut the truck off.

Race leaned his head back on the seat, his other hand digging into his knee.

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Spot said finally, answering Race’s question from the store. His heart broke at the disbelieving sound Race made.

“Then why... why—“ he cut himself off, shaking his head.

Spot reached across the console to run a hand across the side of Race’s head, softly. “Talk to me, Racer.”

“That guy,” Race started, and let out a harsh, dry laugh. “That stupid guy.” Spot just looked at him quizzically, and he went on, a tear dripping off his chin. “Do you remember that guy that I met in the coffee shop?”

Spot did. Alex. Seemed like a grade A douchebag, but Race sort of had a type. He didn’t say that, though, just nodded.

“I’ve been talking to him, you knew that. And he was so fucking nice, made me like him and all that shit, complimented me. Made me want to see him.” Race went on. “I even made him promise that he wasn’t talking to me just to fuck me, ‘cause I wasn’t in the mood for that. I wanted a relationship. Well, guess what?” He smiled bitterly, and his eyes filled with tears again. “I had sex with him on Sunday, and he hasn’t texted me since.”

Spot wanted to punch this Alex guy. He didn’t care about laws or any of that shit. He wanted to kill him.

“What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t anyone... want me?” Race breathed finally, head dipping.

Spot shook his head and flipped the console up before sliding over and taking Race in his arms. He crushed him against his body, trying not to wince in despair as Race’s hot tears fell on his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He said finally, one of hands on the back of Race’s neck. “There isn’t. This guy is fucking stupid, Racer,” he leaned back to wipe Race’s tears away and watched his swimming, shimmering blue eyes. “I promise. Anyone who doesn’t see how amazing and sweet and badass you are is stupid, and we don’t need them. We don’t need them.”

Race’s hand slid up to thread through Spot’s curls, eyebrows drawn together. “Why can’t anything ever just work out?” He whispered, his thumb sweeping over Spot’s ear.

“Fuck that.” He said, and relished the snort that Race let out. “Nothing needs to work out as long as I’ve got you and you’ve got me. We’re all that matters, right?”

Race’s blue eyes spark and he nods, his fingernails running along Spot’s scalp. “Right.”

Spot nods firmly, as if for confirmation, and when he moves back in front of the steering wheel, Race goes with him, one hand still running softly through his hair.

Spot pretends that it doesn’t send a spark of he-doesn’t-know-what shooting through his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they’re in love  
> love y’all  
> <333


	5. holding you close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spot is drunk and sleepy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise upload!  
> so this chapter is cute to me because spot is oblivious  
> enjoy loves!!

June 17th

Spot is slightly drunk and more than slightly sleepy.

When Albert, Elmer, Jack, Davey, Kath, Sarah, Finch, Crutchie, and Blush—Blink and Mush, that is, because they were literally always together and Jack had decided saying two names took too long when they were a package deal anyway—had piled into Spot and Race’s apartment with booze and food, he’d known two things.

One: it was going to be a very late night.

Two: he would end it sprawled on top of Race’s body, on the couch, as he always ended nights when he was drunk.

His entire body was completely overlapping Race’s, face buried just beneath his jaw, nose running along a vein in his neck. His hands were tucked under Race’s shoulders, and Race’s fingers were tracing ambling patterns up and down his spine. He’d been half a breath away from sleep for thirty minutes. One of Race’s hands softly scratching his scalp was only pulling him further down into unconsciousness.

Jack laughed loudly at something Albert said, and Spot heard Race shush him. “Spot’s sleeping.” He’d said.

Spot thought about correcting him, but found he wasn’t able to string the words together in his impaired brain.

“Looks pretty comfy.” Elmer’s smug voice cut in, and Blink let out a low, suggestive, “ooh.”

“Oh, shut up.” Race rumbled quietly. The skin of his neck was warming against Spot’s cheek with each passing moment, and he was too drunk to understand why.

“Why aren’t you dating him, again?” Davey’s voice calls.

Race shoots back, “Why aren’t you dating Jack, again?”

The room goes utterly silent. After a moment, Kath whispers, “Shit.” Which makes Sarah burst into laughter. Spot can almost picture Jack and Davey, glancing quickly at each other and then looking away, scarlet and wide-eyed. It makes Spot want to laugh at his brother, who hasn’t gotten the balls to just  _ask out his roommate_ , but he’s too tired to do more than think of laughing.

Jack seems to rescue he and Davey from the limelight. “You didn’t answer the question,  _Racetrack.”_ He says pointedly.

Race shakes his head. “Spot doesn’t want to date me.”

It’s an interesting thought, the two of them dating. Spot entertains the idea, for a moment. Coming home and kissing Race, cuddling on the couch after a long day, sleeping in the same bed, holding hands in public. It lights something warm in his stomach, and he can’t dislike the image.

“But do _you_ want to date  _him_?” Albert asks.

“No.” Race responds too quickly.

“ _Yes_ .” Jack counters, and there’s a knowing, accusing laugh in his voice. “Oh, you so do! I can’t believe you’re gonna marry my brother!”

“Hush!” Race hisses, and everyone seems to look at Spot, to make sure he’s not awake. He doesn’t remember how to move so they’d think he was, anyway. “I’m not gonna marry your brother, Jack. He’s my best friend.”

“First of all, no.” Albert calls, and Spot can feel Race’s head turn to look at the ginger. “ _I'm_ your best friend, who you talk to  _about_ Spot. See the difference?”

Race huffs. “Whatever.” He says plainly.

Spot wants to stay awake, to hear the rest of the conversation, but sleep drags him down into the depths and he doesn’t have to pretend to be unconscious anymore.

He knows Race’s hand is still in his hair, though, raking gently through his curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gayyyyyyy  
> btw y’alls comments are really out here making my day like wow what’d i do to deserve you  
> love youuuuu  
> <333


	6. hold me when im frightened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gang has annual movie night and spot is definitely NOT afraid of horror movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo this is fluff and spot’s totally head over heels  
> enjoy!!

June 23rd

Spot is not scared of horror movies.

That being said, if he jumps at them, it’s only because that’s a natural reaction to a jump scare, so he’s entirely normal.

The group has a rotating movie night, every Saturday night. It had started in freshman year of college, considering that’s where they’d all met, or in the sense of Davey, Jack, Spot, Race and Kath, had applied to together. As they’d all been new to college and particularly liked staying inside, they’d decided that having a movie night with their big group was better than going out to parties. Now, they were seniors, and their movie nights were sort of their own little parties, considering all the pizza, snacks and booze consumed at each one. The rule was that the movies were voted on the day before, with majority winning.

And somehow, whenever it was Jack’s turn to host, he always managed to weasel the majority into voting for a horror movie.

Spot doesn’t like horror movies. He’s not saying they scare him, because they don’t, absolutely not.

He just doesn’t like them.

He glared at Jack as he and Race walked in, arms full of assorted snack foods and a bottle of vodka. Jack just grinned back at him and stuck his tongue out.

They set the food in the kitchen and walked into the attached living room, only to find Davey sitting on the loveseat, looking intently at something at his phone. No one else was there, and without looking at each other, Spot and Race high-fived. Being the first ones meant they got their choice of seating, even though they always chose Jack’s huge comfy recliner and just huddled together, every time without fail. Still, there was something satisfying about having free reign.

They promptly plop down into the aforementioned chair, Spot sitting in between Race’s legs, spine against his chest. Race wraps his arms around Spot’s shoulders and lets one of his thumbs run along his collarbones, as Spot rests his head on Race’s chest. They always sit like this, no matter what house they’re at, whether they’re on the floor or in a chair or stretched across a couch. It’s just become a default for movie night.

Kath and Sarah enter next, and Sarah sets down about four bottles of wine as her fiancée runs into the living room and throws herself on the enormous beanbag that doubles as a mattress, claiming it for the night. Sarah smiles at her from the island in the kitchen, and Kath winks back.

It’s safe to say that they’re the cutest couple Spot’s ever seen.

“They’re adorable.” Race whispers, echoing Spot’s unspoken sentiment, and he nods.

“The cutest.”

“Cuter than Blink and Mush?” Race asks.

Spot thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to one side. “They’re on the same level.” He says finally, because Blink and Mush really are two of the most adorable humans he’s ever seen.

Race laughs, and Spot feels it rumble in Race’s chest, rolling down his spine, but he ignores the spark of heat that it sends barreling through him.

Finch, Crutchie, Blink, Mush and Albert all appear at the same time, all with foodstuffs and more liquor because yes, they’re _that_ friend group, and the pizza guy arrives just after them. Spot calls for Crutchie to grab him a slice, and Kath wants a glass of wine, and for a while it’s all just yelling pleas to grab different foods and drinks. Elmer walks in as Albert and Finch are playing Rock Paper Scissors for who has to pour the drinks and immediately bursts out laughing.

Spot loved the energy at movie nights. So carefree, and casually fun, just a bunch of tall _toddlers_ hanging out.

He ends up with a slice of pizza—pepperoni and sausage, because it’s the best—and steals a few of the chips that Race had requested. They share a glass of wine, because wine and pizza is exactly the classy mix one would expect from college seniors who are supposed to be adults.

Finch and Crutchie are lying on the couch together, more interested in each other than the outside world. Blink is leaning against that couch with Mush’s head in his lap, running a hand through Mush’s curls, and Albert and Elmer are reclined in the middle of the room, surrounded by about a million pillows. Jack and Davey are on the loveseat, Sarah and Kath cuddling on the beanbag, and Race and Spot are—of course—tangled together in the chair.

Spot wants to hide his face when the movie starts—not because he’s scared—and loudly announces how much he dislikes Jack, who’s sitting stiffly beside Davey. Since the week before, during the conversation that Spot had been “asleep” for, they’d been skirting around each other so awkwardly it almost brings Spot physical pain.

Jack throws a pretzel at him and Race laughs.

Spot makes it halfway through the movie.

He’s jumped at every jump scare, appreciating the tightening of Race’s arms around him each time, but when the mom starts screaming bloody murder as her child literally _skitters_ brokenly down the hall at her, he makes a barely-there squeak and flips around until his face is buried in Race’s chest.

Race laughs. He hasn’t jumped once.

“Are you scared?” He asks.

Spot flicks him in the chest. “No. I’m... tired.”

Race just laughs again. “Whatever you say, Seanie.” His tone his teasing, but his hands comes up to thread through Spot’s hair as someone on the screen screams and he flinches harshly. “Hey,” Race says, after a long ten minutes of Spot’s face buried in his chest. “Look at Jack and Davey.”

Spot knows Race is trying to make him laugh so he forgets how much he dislikes horror movies—because that’s all it is, he’s not scared—so he lifts his head to glance at his brother and Davey.

They’re cuddled together, Davey looking half asleep in Jack’s arms, eyes glued lazily to the TV. Jack’s gaze is locked on Davey’s face, lips set in a soft smile, irises twinkling.

Spot giggles and looks up to Race’s face, setting his chin on his chest. Race’s arms are still around him, one hand planted on his spine and the other scratching his scalp. “They do this every movie night.” He remarks amusedly.

It’s true. They always start sitting next to each other, casual and distanced, but within the first ten minutes of the lights going down, they’re tangled together like vines, all legs and arms and longing, gazing eyes. Spot only knows a few things for sure in life, and one of them is that Jack and Davey are going to spend the rest of their lives together—as soon as they get their heads out of their asses and just  _ get together._

Race snickers. “I don’t know if they can help it. They’re like magnets.”

Spot looks up at his best friend.

_Are we like magnets?_

He doesn’t know why he thinks it—or, rather, he does, and doesn’t care to face it right now—but it’s there before he can push it aside.

He laughs a little. “They’re definitely ending up together.” He says, ignoring the thought that had bounced into his head.

Race nods. “One hundred percent.” He agreed.

Spot just grinned and pressed his face back into Race’s chest, the clamoring screams echoing from the TV seeming much further away now than they had before. Race’s hand moves gently through his hair, fingernails running across his scalp, and even though he hates horror movies, he’s content in the feel of Race running his fingers through his curls, comforting and warm.

And he thinks idly, before he can stop himself,  _ I want to be with Race for the rest of my life. _

Race’s hand doesn’t stop moving, but Spot’s world feels a little bit like it’s kicked into overdrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gIvE sPoT fEeLiNgS 2k19  
> ive said it once ill say it again!!  
> anyway love y’all to death  
> <333


	7. wake me up at 12am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s spots birthday and race wakes him up far too early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo this chapter is just fluff  
> angst? idk her  
> just kidding that’s coming soon  
> enjoy!!

July 27th

Spot wakes up at exactly 12 a.m. to Race jumping on his bed with a bright grin.

“Tonio, what the  _fuck._ ” He snarls, throwing a pillow at him.

Race dodges. “It’s your biiiirth-daaaaay.” He sings happily, and holds out a square-shaped box wrapped in shimmering gold paper. It has a white bow on top.

Spot sighs, but smiles. He’d never made a particularly big fuss about his birthday—another year, so what? Call him when his birthday present is the decimation of his student loans—but Medda had always said birthdays were extremely important, and Race had always echoed that sentiment. “Thanks, Racer, but you didn’t have to stay up to give me this.”

“I’m not a grandma like you, Conlon, I don’t go to bed before one a.m.” He snarks, but he’s still grinning. He shakes the box again, and Spot takes it from him, eyes on Racer’s bright face.

It’s been a month since Spot realized he had a crush—definitely not just a crush—on Race, but so far, he doesn’t get the whole “woe is me” act that Jack spouts to him all the time. Yeah, he wishes he and Race could be together, but they have plenty of time for that. Spot doesn’t know how Race feels, so he could always like him back.

Then again, he could also not like him like that, and they could just remain friends while Spot’s feelings grow stronger and stronger and he spends his entire life looking over his shoulder for someone who doesn’t feel the same way.

_Oh._ He gets it now.

Still, he smiles at Race and undoes the wrapping paper, throwing it off to one side and looking at the present.

It’s a waterproof Bluetooth speaker.

Spot grins widely at it. Sure, maybe one wouldn’t look at it and immediately think it’s thoughtful and sweet, but Spot knows it’s story. He’d been ranting about not having a speaker anymore, after his had broken, almost six months ago, but he also hadn’t mentioned it since then. Race had just remembered and got him one—and not that money mattered, but by the looks of it, it hadn’t been cheap.

Spot knows his eyes are twinkling when he looks up. “You remembered.” He said fondly, lips parting slightly as he smiled.

Race shrugged. “I remember everything you tell me.” He says simply. Spot’s heart tries, then and there, to swell out of his chest and hand itself over. “I know it’s not the most thoughtf—“

“I love it.” Spot cuts him off, and pulls Race into a hug. “Thank you so much, this is exactly what I needed.”

Race’s arms come back around him, and he shrugs again. “I know you don’t really care for your birthday, and all, but I wanted to do something, at least.”

Spot grins. “Hey,” He says quietly, and pulls back from the hug. “Do you wanna go up to the roof?” He whispers.

Race nods quickly, eyes sparkling mischievously, and like that, they’re swamped in big sweatshirts and sweatpants, carrying rolled up blankets as they tiptoe through their building and up to the roof. Race is smiling, and Spot is too—he can’t help it. The roof is utterly empty, as suspected at midnight on a Tuesday, and even though you can’t see too many stars above NYC—smog, light pollution, all that jazz—there are a few bright enough to shine down on them.

Race spreads out the blanket and they lay down on it, Spot’s head resting on Race’s arm. One of Race’s legs is thrown over his, their ankles locked together. It’s a warm city night, just enough to make them comfortable in their sweats, and the tinny sounds of civilization from the street somehow seem much further away than they really are.

After a while, Race speaks. “You’re legal now.” He laughs.

Spot chuckles. “Twenty-one and in my prime, baby.” He calls, and relishes the giggle that passes Race’s lips.

They lapse back into comfortable silence after that, just watching the sky quietly. Spot sneaks a glance at Race, but his eyes are on the stars, face relaxed and gentle, and Spot thinks he’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

Race’s hand ends up threading through his hair, as it always seems to, and Spot is too sleepy and content to hold back the sigh that escapes his throat. “I love when you do that.” He whispers.

Race snorts. “You’re just one big marshmallow, Conlon.”

“Everyone likes having their hair played with.” Spot remarks lightly, laughing a little. “Besides, you like touching my hair, too.”

“It’s soft.” Race shrugs, and then glances at Spot out of the corner of his eye and grins. “Plus, it makes you all sleepy and calm. You practically become a teddy bear.”

Spot shoots him a mock-glare, and then laughs.

“I do like it.” Race admits after a long moment of silence, eyes cast towards the sky again. “I don’t know why, but it centers me, somehow. It’s like...” he thinks for a moment. “It’s like if I can run my hands through your hair, then I know you’re here with me. And if you’re here with me, everything just makes more sense.”

Spot’s staring at his face, and knows if Race catches his gaze, he’ll see the unveiled love shining there. “I know the feeling.” He murmurs gently.

Race smiles, and looks at Spot as soon as Spot looks back to the sky. “We really fit together.” He whispers.

Spot threads his fingers through Race’s other hand and nods. “We really do.”

Race grins and looks up to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s TRUE LOVE  
> spot’s a leo  
> i saw the lion king the other day  
> it was good  
> wtf is wrong with me omg  
> love you!!  
> <333


	8. everyone hooks up at weddings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> race and spot get drunk the night before kath and sarah’s wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo this chapter is gonna be a drunk rollercoaster and i wrote it at 3am  
> enjoy loves!!

August 12th

Race and Spot were drunk the night before Sarah and Kath’s wedding, because of course they were. 

Kath and Sarah had decided to get married up in Albany, Kath’s hometown from when she was like six. Most people were coming up the day of, but the brides’ families and their friend group had driven up the day before and spent the night in the same hotel, which probably made the staff want to die. Race and Spot were sharing a hotel room, because why wouldn’t they?

“Guys!” Kath called loudly, standing up. They were all crowded at the hotel bar, and had been drinking since six. Davey and Jack looked ready to jump each other.

Race whooped as Kath tried to get everyone’s attention, laughing when Sarah bellowed, “Hey, listen to my fiancée!”

They all went silent, and Sarah winked up at her wife-to-be. “Thank you, my love,” Kath said cheerily, and raised her glass. “I would like to make a toast.” She announced, only slightly tipsy. “To my friends—“ they cheered and she shushed them. “—even though you’re all idiots most of the time, I love you so much. To my family, who aren’t here because they’re asleep, because they’re  _nerds._.. I love them too, even though they’re kind of bitches.” A long laugh. “A special thanks to Jack and Davey, who have been my best friends since fourth grade and who introduced me to Sarah.” There was a pause as Jack and Davey cooed, and then Kath turned to Sarah, her eyes misty. “And finally, to Sarah.” She took a shaky breath. “You are my best friend in the entire world, and I can’t believe I’m marrying you tomorrow. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I never will. And I’m so unbelievably joyful that I get to marry you in less than twenty-four hours. I’m ready to start our lives together, baby.”

Spot was pretty sure everyone was crying now. Even his eyes were watery.

Katherine raised her glass. “Cheers!”

The roar that rose was cacophonous, and Spot happily downed his drink after clinking with Race. Sarah pulled Kath into a long, tender kiss, that escalated until Davey called out, “Jesus Christ, get a room!”

Kath flipped him the bird and pulled away to yell, “I’m getting married tomorrow, fuck off!” Before leaning forward to capture Sarah’s lips again.

Spot dissolved into laughter and fell into Race’s side, grinning when Race threw an arm around his shoulder. “Spottie!” He called loudly, and Spot recoiled at the screaming in his ear.

“Racer!” He yelled back, just as loud.

“Spottie, I think we should get married.” Race said frankly, pulling Spot closer into his side.

Spot, drunk and joyous, nodded firmly. “Yes! Yes, let’s do it. I’d totally marry you.”

Race poked him in the chest. “I’d marry you so hard!”

“Oh my god!” Crutchie’s voice echoed into their thoughts, and they both turned. “They’re gonna kiss!”

He was talking about Jack and Davey, who were about an inch away from each other, staring into each other’s eyes like they always were. Something about this was different, though, and Spot didn’t know if it was his brother’s hands on Davey’s waist or Davey’s palm against Jack’s cheek, or just the fact that they were drunk, at a wedding, and had been after each other for twelve years.

There was a long, quiet moment as everyone went silent, watching Jack and Davey. Jack whispered something and Davey giggled.

The moment they kissed, the room exploded into cheers and catcalls, laughing and whooping and pushing at each other in some random, drunken manner. Spot watched them with a smile, leaning into Race’s side. Even if he was ridiculously drunk, he was happy for his brother. His brother, who was really  _kissing_ Davey, like the world was going to end if they stopped.

Spot pouted up at Race. “Why doesn’t anyone kiss me like that?” He asked drunkenly, lower lip quivering.

Race shrugged. “I’ll kiss you.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will!” Race objected offendedly, as if annoyed that Spot thought he was lying. “I would kiss you so hard!”

“We have to wait until we’re married.”

“Why?”

Spot raised his brows. “Because if we don’t then the leprechauns will smack us silly.”

Race poked his nose. “You’re a goose.”

“ _Soy un ganso? Eres el ganso, tu precioso ángel rubio_.” Spot said quickly, swaying on his feet.

“Seanie, you switched into Spanish again.” Race snorted, and squished Spot’s cheeks in his hands. “You have chubby cheeks.”

Spot made a face and tipped his head up. “Just kiss me.” He huffed.

He hadn’t really expected Race to actually kiss him, but he did. 

It was the way people kissed in movies, all warm lips and tight hands. Race’s arms were wrapped around his waist, pulling him up onto his tiptoes, and his tongue kept running along Spot’s bottom lip, over and over again until Spot was gasping desperately up into his mouth, hands fisted in the front of Race’s shirt. He tasted like alcohol and smelled like fresh laundry and one of his hands was sliding beneath Spot’s shirt to grasp at his side, his thumb pressing into the hollow of his hipbone.

Spot had never imagined that kissing Race would feel like coming home. That it would be like returning to something he’d never realized he’d missed, like shooting backwards and forwards through time at once. Like living through all of his past and future lives with Race, because he _knew_ that they were together in each of them. They were always  _together._

Race pressed him against the bar, hands still on his hips, and fitted their bodies until each plane of them was aligned, pulled close together. Spot’s hand was on the side of Race’s neck, keeping him close, and the other was gripping his bicep with bruising force, mouth moving fiercely against Race’s. And it was just  _good_ , hot and intense and wanting.

Race pulled away first, chuckling when Spot’s lips searched after his for another moment. His chest was heaving, blonde curls in a disarray, cheeks flushed. “You’re good at that.” He breathed finally, with shimmering blue eyes.

Spot swallowed and managed a laugh. “We should keep doing that.” He murmured.

They did.

In the elevator.

Race whimpered as Spot pressed him against the wall and attached his lips to his neck, right over his pounding pulse point.

“Jesus,” Race groaned, and threaded his fingers through Spot’s hair. Spot could’ve exploded at the feel, sliding one of his knees in between Race’s thighs, but then Race _tugged_ and he let out the lowest sound he ever had, eyes sliding shut.

“Shit, do that again.” He whimpered.

Race giggled. “I should’ve guessed.” He whispered, and tugged on Spot’s hair again, pulling him back up until their lips were attached once more. His hand grabbed Spot’s head firmly, nails digging into his scalp as they rolled their hips together.

The elevator door dings, opens on their floor, and Spot drags them both out, stumbling drunkenly and giggling slightly. Race fumbles with the room key as Spot kisses up his spine, gasping a little, and the moment it’s open they fall into the room and shut it behind them, still laughing. Race pressed Spot against the closed door and groaned as their hips aligned, pressing forward.

Clothes make a haphazard path to their bed, thrown on the floor and hanging off doorknobs.

And suddenly Race is under him, pressed close, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, eyes shut. His hands are grabbing for purchase on anything, raking down Spot’s back, fisting in the bedsheets until his knuckles are white and his back is arching needfully and Spot feels like he’s going to  _implode,_ he’s so desperate.

Race’s hands find a hold in Spot’s hair, as they always do, and Spot groans as everything just fades into white and beauty and Antonio.

His fingers don’t leave Spot’s curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that happennedddddd  
> kudos and comments if you enjoyed??  
> love y’all!!  
> <333


	9. someone rewind the clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spot wakes up the day of sarah and kath’s wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo this is a sort of surprise upload i was supposed to do it tomorrow but i have no patience  
> enjoy!!

August 13th

Spot awakes with a headache and his arms and legs entangled with someone else’s.

He has four immediate thoughts.

Sarah and Kath’s wedding is today.

He slept with Race.

Race’s hand is still in his hair.

What the  _fuck?_

He lolls his head to one side, looking for the clock, and exhales when he catches the time. It’s only 9:14, and they’re not due at the church until noon. Which is probably lucky, because Race is still dead asleep beside him, perfect face calm and slack. His eyes move idly beneath his eyelids, like he’s having a dream.

Spot watches him, and he thinks.

He’s not stupid. He’s known Race since he was six, and he was the _first_ to know when Race lost his virginity—he knows his best friend doesn’t necessarily relate sex with emotion. That’s not to say it’s not important to him, but there are times when he just wants it and will take it if someone up to his standards offers. He also knows that they were extremely drunk last night, and Spot had asked Race to kiss him.

But Race...  _had_. Race had kissed him when he asked, like he’d really wanted to. He’d pressed Spot against the bar, and let Spot push him against the elevator, and he’d begged and groaned when they were—

He’d been drunk. Ridiculously, insanely drunk. They both had been.

Spot hadn’t said or done anything he wouldn’t have willingly done sober. He’d kissed Race, which he’d wanted to do for ages. He’d had sex with Race, which he’d wanted to do for an equally long time. The only difference is that he hadn’t been sober, and if he had been, he wouldn’t have had the confidence to ask in the first place.

But that didn’t mean Race felt the same way. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t wake up and realize what they’d done, and his eyes would get all wide and disbelieving in that way they do. He could wake up and tell Spot that it was a mistake, a drunken mistake, and that he wanted to forget about it. And they’d go back to being best friends, because nothing would ever stop them from being best friends, but Spot would be irreparably decimated inside and he’d just have to go along, because hell if he’s losing his best friend just because he’s in love with him. He’d just have to  _live,_ with Race so painfully close and just out of reach, until Race found someone he did want to be with and Spot had to watch him be in love with someone that  wasn’t him.

Spot wondered if this is what heartbreak felt like. Like a fire, the kind that eats away and destroys, crackling inside his chest and gnawing at his core. He wondered if the feeling would ever go away, now that he knows what it feels like.

He rolls onto his back, and like it was cued, Race wakes up.

Spot lets him fly through the motions. Notice the headache. Remember the alcohol. Remember everything else. Have a reaction to it. Choose what to do.

Race’s decision appears to be whispering, “Holy fucking shit.” And staring at the side of Spot’s face.

Spot snorts; he can’t really help it. But then he remembers the queasy, gnawing sensation through his body, and he presses his lips together. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.” He confirms.

He doesn’t want to look at Race’s face. Doesn’t want to decipher whatever is lying there, because Race has absolutely no poker face. He would rather go back to sleep in Race’s arms, rewind time to when they’d collapsed together the night before, sweaty and sated and grinning, as Race’s hands had run through his wild, stuck-up hair and he’d  _giggled_ , actually giggled.

Race seemed to exhale, and after a long moment, he murmured, “When do we have to be down at the church?”

So that’s how it was going to happen. They weren’t going to talk, weren’t going to acknowledge it besides a shallow  _holy fucking shit_ and a glance at each other that both think neither can see.

Spot never thought about the possibility of not talking about it at all. Somehow, it hurts more than the idea of Race thinking it’s a mistake.

It means he doesn’t think it’s anything. What they did isn’t important to him.

“Noon.”

Spot sits up, frantically pushing back tears that want to rise as his heart falls down to somewhere around his feet, and he feels Race’s hand slip from his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry please don’t kill me  
> LOVE YOU  
> <333


	10. you feel brand new to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> race and spot talk some things over on race’s birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> race is a sagittarius no i do not take constructive criticism  
> second to last chapter!!  
> hope y’all enjoy!!

August passes.

September follows.

October.

November.

December 8th

Race hadn’t touched Spot since Sarah and Kath’s wedding. Ever since they’d woken up in that damn bed together and Race’s hand had fallen from his hair, every casual touch they’d ever shared had been thrown out the window. They had stayed best friends, the dynamic between them was no different—Race was very good at ignoring things, apparently. They still joked around, hung out and watched movies, got drunk with their friends. They even did a pairs costume for Halloween, as Pugsley and Wednesday from The Addams Family. Race’s gay ass had insisted on being Wednesday instead of Lurch or Fester, but hey, Spot couldn’t judge.

The only difference was, they didn’t touch.

No high-fives. No brushing hair out of eyes. No cuddling in blanket forts. No Race’s grip on Spot’s hips, moving him slightly aside as he squeezed past him at the kitchen counter.

No Race’s hands in Spot’s hair.

The only time Spot had thought Race was actually going to touch him was a month after The Incident—as he’d come to refer to it—when Spot had walked out of the bathroom in just a towel and turned the corner, only to come face-to-face with Race.

Or chest-to-chest, rather.

Race’s eyes raked across Spot’s muscled, tan torso, decorated with stray drops of water, and his lips parted. Spot had flushed under the attention, eyes on Race’s wanting face, watching as his pupils dilated wildly. Race had raised one hand, palm out, as if to run it along Spot’s chest, but at the last moment he’d pulled it back and raked it through his hair, his cheeks flushing. He laughed awkwardly, dragging his gaze up to Spot’s confused face, and then slid past him and into the bathroom.

Spot learned to live with this new, contactless life with his roommate, even though it tore away at him, day by day.

But today was Race’s birthday, and Spot had gotten him the Assassin’s Creed box set as well as an enormous bag of tropical Skittles and a new set of headphones. Race loved when people went all out for his birthday.

Spot had almost become accustomed to being touch-starved with Race, had almost reached the point where he could close his eyes and not see flashes of sweaty skin pressing together and Race’s mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ as his brows drew together—

Race laughs cheerily when Spot gives him the present, very obviously delighted. They’re standing in the kitchen, though Spot doesn’t really know why, not that it matters.

“Damn Spottie! This is totally awesome!” Race says excitedly, almost hopping.

Spot shrugs and grins. “It’s no problem, Racer.”

It all seems to happen at once.

Race turns to him with a smile.

Spot looks up into his blue eyes.

Race draws him into a hug, the first touch in months.

They both freeze the moment Race’s arms are completely around Spot’s shoulders, bodies stiff and uncomfortable. Race’s fresh laundry and lemons smell surrounds Spot, soaking into his pores, and he sighs, just barely, leaning into the touch.

Race’s arms make to retract awkwardly, but Spot is so suddenly fearful that this is the last time he’ll ever touch Race that he gathers him against his body, burying his face in Race’s chest.

“No, please don’t.” He pleads, cheeks burning at how pitifully his voice cracks.

Race takes a shuddering breath, and his arms tighten around Spot’s shoulders, keeping him close. Spot relishes in the touch, the smell of Race, the feel of arms around him and the beat of Race’s heart, wild but sure. It’s been so long since they’ve even been close to touching. Spot didn’t even know it was possible to miss something this  _much,_ or to still hurt so badly when it came back.

He steps away after a long moment, arms untangling from around Race’s waist, and looks up into his blue eyes. Race opens his mouth to say something.

Spot gets there first.

“I’m so gone over you.”

It feels unbelievably good to say, even as Race’s jaw drops comically and his eyes widen.

He barrels on. “I have been for months, for so long, and it’s tearing me apart. Especially since the wedding... I know we fucked up sleeping together, I know you just want to forget it, but I don’t and I can’t. I’m head over heels for you, like a real fucking teenager, and I don’t know what to do about it. I understand you’re shutting me out, keeping me away by not touching me, but I swear, if I have to live one more day with this unspoken barrier between us I’m going to yank out my hair. I miss touching you. I just _want_ you,  Race, I’m so crazy in love with you.”

He takes a shuddering breath.

Race is staring at him.

And then finally, Race breathes, “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

Spot’s eyes flash from the ground to Race’s gaze. “What?”

Race seems to think for a moment, mouth opening and shutting, and then he takes a step forward to close the space between them, cupping Spot’s face in his hands.

Spot knows what’s coming before it happens, but he still gasps when Race kisses him.

It’s entirely different from the kisses they’d shared before. It’s not heated like in the elevator, it’s not desperate like in their hotel room, it’s not new and drunken like at the bar. Race’s lips are soft and warm, and he sort of tastes like Burt’s Bees chapstick and chocolate, like sunshine and joy and want. Spot’s arms slide around his waist and tug him ever closer, crushing their bodies together as Race holds his face. Their mouths move together, soft and sweet, and Spot feels like his knees are going to give out beneath him.

He can’t believe he’s kissing Race. He’s kissing Race without being drunk, or at a wedding, or in an elevator. He’s kissing Race because Race _wanted_ to kiss him, and he did.

Race wanted to kiss him.

Race’s teeth scrape across Spot’s lip and then he pulls away, smiling. Spot’s head is spinning intensely but he wants to giggle as his eyes open.

Race’s thumb sweeps across Spot’s cheekbone, and he grins. “I’ve been in love with you for about eight and a half years.” He says plainly.

Spot’s heart lifts, and he smiles wider, but his eyebrows furrow slightly. “Then why...?”

Race sighs. “I know it wasn’t cool, and I know it sucked, but I figured you didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t say anything that morning, so I just thought you didn’t think it was important. And I didn’t touch you because I knew if I did, I would jump your bones.”

Spot laughs dryly and thumps his chest. “ _You_ thought _I_ didn't think it was important?” He asks sarcastically, shaking his head. “What were your words, again? Let’s see... ‘when do we have to be down at the church?’” He lowers his voice to mimic Race stupidly, and Race laughs and pinches his arm.

“I was freaking out, alright? I’ve been in love with you since freshman year and then we had sex while we were drunk. I was losing it a little bit. If it makes you feel better, I turned right around and stress-ranted to Jack for three hours the day after the wedding.” He explains, laughing.

Spot looks at him for a long moment, smirking. “I was ranting to Jack in the _middle_ of the wedding reception, so,” he shrugged and giggled, tongue poking out between his teeth. “I win.”

Race swoops down to kiss him again, and Spot knows he’ll never get tired of that. “Whatever.” He says simply.

Race’s hands slide up to thread through Spot’s hair, nails scratching across his scalp, and Spot’s eyes shut as he leans into his boyfriend.

_Boyfriend._

Christ, he loves that.

“Hey,” Spot murmurs gently, and smiles when Race kisses one of his freckles. “I love you.”

Race bumps their noses together, and responds fondly, “You’re a marshmallow, Conlon.”

Spot just nods and stands on his tiptoes to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awwwwww soft boys are soft and spork is smol  
> I LOVE YOU SO MUCH  
> <333


	11. a marshmallow you married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> race and spot start their lives together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo this is the last chapter  
> the support and enthusiasm y’all have given this is making me tweakkkk  
> I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH  
> enjoy!!  
> <333

_Four years later_

October 18th

Spot awakes warm and happy, as he has for the last four years, but this time is better.

He opens his eyes only to find Race staring at him, a wide smile on his perfect face. His blue eyes are shimmering, and the moment he realizes Spot’s awake, he leans over to kiss him softly.

Spot makes a gentle sound, humming lightly, and giggles when Race rolls them over until he’s atop Spot’s body.

“Hey.” Race says happily, raising himself on his elbows and looking down at Spot.

“Hey.” Spot says back with a joyous grin.

Race kissed him lightly. “We got married yesterday.”

Spot ran his hands up and down Race’s arms, smiling. “We did.”

“We did that.”

Spot laughs loudly, throwing his head back, and Race plants a kiss on his Adam’s apple. “We did that.”

“We leave for Aruba today.”

“Aruba sounds lovely.”

“I chose well.”

Spot leans up to kiss his husband—his  _husband,_ isn’t that beautiful—and says against his lips, “So did I.”

“Aww, that’s romantic, you like me?” Race giggles.

Spot pulled a face and chuckled. “We’re married.”

Race swoops down suddenly to kiss him, smiling against Spot’s mouth as his hands slide into his hair. “Say that again.” He breathes, tugging lightly on Spot’s curls.

Spot kisses the corner of Race’s mouth and whispers, “We’re married, baby.”

Race leans up. “We’re married!” He yells loudly, face flushing. “We’re married, I can’t believe we really did that.”

Spot decided to be particularly sappy and murmurs, “I can’t believe I married my best friend.”

Race grins. “We got married! In front of people!”

“I know, I was there.” He laughed, and Race’s nails scraped across his scalp. His eyes slid shut at the feeling.

Race laughed. “Does that mean I get to touch your hair forever?” He asks, and bumps their noses together.

“Mm-hmm.” He assures, eyes still shut as sunshine slants across them. Everything is slow and warm and happy, easy in a way everything had always been with Race.

“Badass.” Race says, and they both laugh loudly before leaning into another kiss.

Race’s hands still as their mouths move and Spot makes an indignant sound, pouting. He doesn’t get the message, and Spot leans away only to demand, “Keep playing with my hair.”

Race laughs but obeys, nails raking gently along Spot’s scalp.

“You’re a marshmallow, Conlon.”

“A marshmallow you married, Higgins.”

“I love you.”

“If you say so.”

Race chuckled and leaned down to kiss him again, his hands moving softly through Spot’s dark curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awwwww  
> pleaseee don’t hesitate to leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed  
> i love y’all!  
> <333


End file.
